


The Curse of the Claw Machine

by pocketbrows



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Comedy, Gen, supposed to be like goosebumps spooky- aka not scary but funny kind of fake-spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:58:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketbrows/pseuds/pocketbrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scout and Pyro bring home an apparently 'cursed' claw machine, things start to get a little weird around Cactus Canyon. Is the machine haunted? Are they cursed for eternity? ...Readers beware - you're in for a scare!<br/>(This is a comedy story devised by my sister and I and loosely inspired by the legendary works of R.L. Stine!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a relatively calm and peaceful day out in one of the countless arid Southwestern desert of America. The sun beat heavily down upon the worn, dry, desert mud, turning the ground into a piping hot stovetop. Birds acclimated to such weather soared high in the sky, in search for their next unfortunate meal. The desert found easy silence, life carried on as it always did, and all was good.

Then, the jarring sound of a worn-out engine tore through that lovely, calm silence. Puffs of black smoke emitted from the clunky old beast of a truck and dirtied the once clear air, and as it putted along, gouging grooves into the sand, critters hidden in what little shade they could find scuttled out of the way.

“Jee-zus, Py, slow down!” Scout had one arm gripping onto the side door for dear life. He bounced up and down and left and right as Pyro sped and spun and thumped through the desert. Pyro, paying the terrified Bostonian no heed, continued on her merry way as she tore through the once calm wasteland. They were right in the middle of nowhere- Cactus Canyon, it was called. That was certainly true, given the sheer number of cacti the Pyrotechnician tactfully weaved between. She may be a reckless driver, yes, but undeniably a skilled one at that… though her passenger might disagree.

Finally skidding to a stop behind a rickety, ramshackle old building, Scout closed his eyes for a moment and held a shaky hand on his chest as if to quell his racing heart. Then, he exploded.

“I SWEAR- that is the last time I ever let you drive! You coulda killed us with your stupid crazy driving. What the hell… who even _let_ you drive in the first place!”

“Thhrr wlld br yur.” Pyro noted cheerily, drumming her hands easily on the steering wheel. Scout tumbled out of the truck and slammed the rusty red door behind him, still struggling to get his breath. He leaned heavily against the dusty truck.

“Yeah well… still. You coulda trashed Engie’s truck… or out loot too! Next time, think about that, wont’cha?” Scout muttered, loudly cracking his back and neck. Pyro winced at the piercing pops, but didn’t say anything. “I mean- I like goin’ fast, but hoh-lee hell do you take that waaaay to far.” He stumbled, still trying to find his land-legs, toward the back to the truck. He carefully studied their ‘loot’ before continuing.

“It looks okay though. I mean- dusty as hell and maybe a bit dinged up, but ya didn’t kill it.” Scout sighed in relief, then smashed his face against his shirt sleeve, wiping the sweat from his bow. He couldn’t _understand_ how Pyro could _survive_ in that suit for any amount of time in this heat. Said woman slid out of the truck and followed Scout to the back, admiring the duo’s find. It was dingy, it was dirty, it honestly looked like a pile of trash... but it would be a ton of fun, Pyro was certain. “Ya think they’ll like it?”

“I hunnu.” She shrugged.

“Yeah, I gotcha. Well, they are all boring old farts, ain’t they? So they’ll probably jus’ yell at us and say there’s no space for it. They wouldn’t know fun if it hit them in the face at 200 miles’n hour!” Scout sniffed in disdain, patting the machine fondly. He then took one disgusted look at his hand, and hesitantly wiped it on his pants.

“I dnn thnk thrr all thht bd.” Pyro shrugged. Engineer was always nice to her (perhaps because she was always saving his machines from being destroyed, but still) and Demo told her the most interesting fairy tales and ghost stories she had ever heard. Heavy didn’t say much to her but what he did say was always polite. The others were mostly the same- spare Spy who blatantly avoided her. Even that made sense, though. He would be scared of fire.

“Well yea, you don’t think no one’s _‘all that bad’_. You could be lookin’ at an ax murderer and think they’re there to give ya cookies or sumthin’.” The flame specialist rolled her hidden eyes. “Why don’tcha help me get this big thing outta here?”

“Yrrh yrrh, I cn hllp.” She sighed, and climbed up into the bed of the truck.

~

“And where, pray tell, did’ya find _that_ thing?” The Sniper, peering duly up from his woodwork, asked.

“Well, ‘s kinda a long story-” Scout began, before he was cut off.

“In 30 words or less, please.”

Scout sniffed in indignation. “ _Well_ , as I was _sayin’_ , we were back at town and jus’ mindin’ our own business, when allofasudden this weird-o shady guy pops outta _nowhere_ and swaggers up to us and asks us if we wanna buy anythin’ from him. We’re both like ‘uh, no thanks, leave us alone goodbye forever’ but he kinda starts pushing, ya know? So Py here and I head back with this guy, _sure_ we’re gonna get murdered in some dark creepy alleyway, when instead he takes us to this shop, right? And I mean- we woulda _never_ found this thing on our-”

“30 words.” Medic interjected. Scout’s voice was the most irritating distraction in the world, especially because he was trying to read, but the doctor was curious as to just where they found the ridiculous thing.

“Fine. Jeez. Well, basically, we go inside and there’s alllll this dingy stuff layin’ around everywhere. So, of course, Py heads right over to this ancient rusted claw machine- why wouldn’t she, it looks pretty sick. Then the nut-job suddenly gets all defensive and rambling again, sayin’ stuff like “NOOO! _Anything_ but the _claw machine_! Psh. What a drama queen.” Pyro snickered quietly to herself; he was one to talk.

At this point, Demo became more invested in the conversation and, with difficulty, pulled his head up and off of the rickety table (where he had been wallowing in his hung-over shame) and focused one suspicious eye on Scout.

“The dude- he’s like. Weirdly dressed. Robes ‘n rags ‘n stuff. Looked like a nut. Anyway he then starts sayin’ that the stupid thing is _‘cuuuuursed’_ ” Scout waved his arms around for effect, “and that if we bought it it’ah curse us for the rest of our lives. So, of course, we bought it and brought it back here.” He smiled cheekily.

“Well whad’ya do that for, boy?!” Demo roared, holding his arms out in exasperation. “If the man said it were bloody cursed, then what are ya doin’ buyin’ it?! You’ve brought evil spirits into this base here with us- and now we’ve all been cursed because of your stupid bloody-” Demo paused.

“Impulsivity?” Medic offered, not looking up from one of his (many) medical journals.

“Yeah, that!” Demoman pounded his fist on the table. He then sat back in his chair and groaned, grabbing his head. “Ooooh ney… shouldn’tve done that…” He muttered under his breath. His little explosion had brought his pounding headache back into full force.

Scout rolled his eyes at the hungover Scotsman. “It’s just a load of bullsh-”

“Where are ya gonna put that thing, then?” Engineer asked, weaving his way into the crowded room. “It’s neat and all, but we ain’t got much room ‘round here, what with the rest of the stuff y’all keep finding and bringing in.” He chuckled lightheartedly, walking up to the old machine and wiping some dust off the top. He frowned and brushed his fingers together- it was amazing what years without cleaning in the desert could do to a good machine. He would honestly be surprised if the silly thing still _worked_ ; though, if anyone was too heart broken about it’s malfunctioning, he could probably fix it.

“Eh… well…” Scout paused, looking the machine up and down.

“There is room in laundry room.” Heavy piped up, nodding his head toward a dark, stuffy side room down at the end of the hall.

“It will be tight but it should work.” Medic agreed. “Though next time, I would advise you to _not_ bring any worthless knick-knacks back to this base.” A pause. “ _Ever again._ ” He added threateningly. “There is simply no room for this trash! No one will use it, and it will just be a waste of space.” He huffed, glaring at the guilty duo. Pyro rubbed her neck sheepishly.

“Iss nut lrk we brrng tht mch stf arrnd annwy…” She mumbled.

Sniper laughed. “ _That_ is a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Wll, whhhvr. Bssds, I knn y’ll uhl br plyrin whh it in uh mttr uv dyys.” She smiled knowingly under her mask.

“Yeah, that’s right. So! Let’s go put this away, shall we?” Scout said, motioning dramatically towards the laundry room. Pyro snorted in response and the two heaved the machine out of the main living room, leaving a dust trail in it’s wake. Heavy sighed. More to clean. Oh _joy_.

All was peacefully quiet for a moment.

“Now, I came a lil’ late to the party here, but did I hear that this thing’s supposed to be haunted?” Engineer raised his eyebrow incredulously, joining Sniper on one of the two sofas in the room. The couch was probably once yellow, though it had faded due to years of abuse into a murky brown-white spotted bundle of rags and fluff. The sniper chuckled and shook his head lightly.

“Yeah, some loon told ‘im so. Reckon it was a sale tactic- lotta people down south here are way into that supernatural porky.” The Texan- a southerner himself- nodded in agreement.

“You two best be watchin’ your tongues.” Demo admonished the two. “I dunnae care if you think it’s Spondulieitise, there could very well be a curse on us _all_ now.” Demo raised his head from his arms, slouched over the table again.

“The bloody hell’s _Sponduhleese_  mean? And there ain’t no curse, an’ you know it.” Sniper retorted, looking at the demolitions expert up and down. “Yer just a paranoid nutter yourself.”

“Lookit up, if yer so curious!” Demo sneered. “And _you_ didn’t lose an eye to an _evil spellbook_ now did’ye?!” He roared.

“Didn’t you lose your eye in an explosion when you were young?” Medic inquired, laying leisurely against Heavy on the other couch. He did have everyone’s medical history on file, and he distinctly remembered reading that his impairment was due to an unfortunate bomb accident related to a brash attempt at killing the Loch Ness monster, not some... book.

“Ach. Whatever. We’re all doomed now, it’s not like it matters.” Demoman sniffed glumly.

“Aw, buck up partner. We ain’t doomed, it’s all fine an’ right ‘round here, ain’t it? I mean, nothin’ bad’s happened yet- I reckon’ we’re all pretty safe.” Engineer started, but Demo just put his head back down on the table. The Texan sighed. Heavy looked between the two, an amused expression on his face. He looked like he was about to say something before he was rudely interrupted by everyone’s _favorite_ mercenary.

“Aw, _screw_ this stupid thing!” Came a shout from the laundry room, and out stormed Scout into the main room, arms crossed and head fuming. He flopped dramatically down onto the couch beside Engineer and pouted down at the floor.

Pyro rushed out behind him and put her hands on her hips, frowning down at the boy.

“Cmm un. Yrr schh a bybuh! Plyh jss une mrre gmme wth muh, plhs?” She pleaded.

“Nah- I ain’t playin’ no more.” Scout retorted definitively. “Thing’s jacked- shoulda known. Freakin' claw machines… what’s their purpose even? To be _stupid!?_ I feel cheated- I wanna refund!”

“Wht rffnd? Thyr nt evvn yrr qrtrrs!” An exasperated Pyro exclaimed.

“Too bad!” Scout concluded, and then, for effect, burrowed deeper into the ratty cushions as if he was trying to melt into the couch. Pyro stared down at Scout for a moment before huffing and plopping herself down on an armchair.  She stared out the window and slouched down lower in her seat, letting slip a tiny sniffle.

There was an awkward pause as everyone tried to come up with something to say to cheer the forlorn Pyro up.

“Hey, Py, if ya want, I can play a game or two with ya.” Engineer drawled, noting his blue friend.

“Rlly?” Pyro perked up, head whipping around.

“Sure thing. If it’ll make ya happy.” He grinned, then heaved himself, with some difficulty, up and out of the overly-plush couch.

“Yyyy!” She cheered, and followed a chortling Engineer out of the room once more.

“Scout should be nice to Pyro. It’s not often she is here,” Heavy tapped his head, “with us.” He scolded.

“She was being forceful! And besides, she should know that it’s just a stupid game anyway...”

 

~

The Engineer inspected the uninspiring claw machine, noting dispassionately how filthy and poorly-made it looked. It had a few broken lightbulbs here and there up top and a heavy coat of dust covering the entire body of the contraption, which made it difficult to tell what color the original paint job was. Nonetheless, Pyro cheerily stuck two quarters in the machine and it miraculously booted up with a horrendous whine.

The few lights left in the machine flickered to life, revealing a sea of cheap, drab toys and stuffed animals scattered about within the bowels of game. A broken speaker started squeaking what must have once been some sort of cheery carnival-type song, and Engineer shuddered. He understood why one might think the claw machine was haunted. Hesitantly, he put his hand on the joystick and nudged it to the right. The old metal claw creaked into position. Quickly surveying the rather typical toys available in the claw machine, he set his eyes on what could have very well been a 20-year old teddybear. It had goggles, ironically, which reminded him a bit of… well, himself. He didn’t really bother to calculate exactly where or when he needed to drop the claw- he didn’t _need_ the toy, he was just doing this to satisfy Pyro. Sure enough, the claw dropped and grabbed at nothing, coming up empty.

“Darn.” Engineer feigned disappointment.

“Awhh, myby un mrre try wull duh et?” Pyro proposed, not wanting Engineer to feel too bad about losing (like Scout did).

“D’ya want me to go again?”

“Uf yu wnnt tuh!” Pyro exclaimed, though, yes, she really did want him to try again.

“Well, alrighty then. One more try can’t hurt.”

 

~

“No- I’m just saying, if it was really his _mum_ , then he woulda- oh, hey Truckie. No luck?” Sniper looked up from his seat at the table, in which he was having an animated argument with Demoman about the latest episode of their favorite Spanish soap opera. They hardly even understood what anyone was saying on it- often asking Pyro for help translating, but that was part of what made it interesting. They had once been ashamed of watching the rather overzealous show, but the duo had soon grown indifferent to the glares the others gave them whenever they started discussing it at length.

“Nah. Didn’t expect much, though.” Engineer shrugged. Pyro patted him sympathetically on the back, mistaking his indifference for disappointment.

“You feelin’ alright?” Demo asked cautiously, the curse still playing at the forefront of his mind.

“Feelin’ one-hundred percent, thank you very much. Ain’t no spells on that thing, even if it is a bit creepy lookin’. Y’all are just bein’ paranoid.” He chuckled. “Does make for a good story though. ‘The _cuuursed_ claw machine’. Who’da thunk.”

“Maybe Demo can use it for material. To make up new stories.” Heavy proposed.

“Stop yer havering. They ain’t _stories_. Well- I mean- they are stories. But they’re _true_! I know ‘em!” Demo protested, smacking the table. Sniper glared at him as he grabbed his shaking coffee mug.

“Tell it to the judge. Star Trek is about to come on, so shush it!” Scout protested, arms wrapped around his knees, staring intently at the small, dim TV.

“Uuuh! Strr Trks un! Enggi, cm un!” Pyro cheered, dragging her friend over to the couch. Engineer just shook his head and sat down with the other two, then became enraptured with the screen as his favorite show began.

“ _...Space. The final frontier…_ ”

“Hey, where’s Soldier?” Demo asked loudly, only to be shushed angrily by Pyro.

“Soldier took Spy out to train. He yelled something about Spy being unfit for a real man’s combat and then forced him at gunpoint to go train with him to become a better soldier… or something along those lines.” Medic whispered, hand waving in the air. The doctor paused a moment and glared at the TV, then sighed and closed his book; sitting up from his spot nestled into Heavy’s side. “I’m going to the lab, since those three,” Medic sent a pointed look to Engineer, Scout, and Pyro, “want to watch their show _so badly_.”

Heavy smiled at Medic as the man stormed out of the room, then set his own book down and began idly watching the show with the others. He wasn’t as invested in the show as they were, but it was… amusing sometimes.

“The spook? _Training_? This I’ve gotta see.” Sniper snickered. Demo voiced his agreement and grabbed two beers out of the fridge, following the Australian up the stairs and out onto the roof.

It was a good day in Cactus Canyon for all.

It wouldn’t be for long...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finished chapter 2 as a b-day present for my sister. happy birthday cassie!

It was late in the evening. The moon shone dramatically over the desert, highlighting tiny nooks and crannies brightly in the dark, dark night. As they were so far out from just about everything and anyone, the mercenaries had the privilege to gaze out over an endless sea of stars every night.  
Instead of stargazing, however, our dear mercs slept soundly in their beds. Tired after a hard days work, most had tumbled early into bed and fallen asleep just about instantly. No one was up and stomping about, (like was typical of weekends); everything was serene.  
The only noise to disturb the silence was the small shuffling of leaden, tired footsteps, making their way quietly down the hall so as not to wake anyone. Moonlight highlighted the silhouette of a beast of a man as he emerged from total darkness. It lit the giant's way, reflecting against the scuffed hardwood floors in such a way that the world looked like it was glowing in a pale, white light.  
As he weaved through the living room and into the kitchen, Heavy rubbed his tired eyes. Insomnia plagued him often… lingering aches, worrisome thoughts, nightmares. This time, thankfully, it was just soreness that kept him up. Lugging around his massive gun absolutely killed his back, and if he didn't respawn right before the round ended then he would be nursing a painful spine for days after.  
He pulled down his special mug from the dark cabinets (one that actually fit his massive paws, a rare sensical gift from Soldier) and squinted against the artificial light of the refrigerator as he poured himself a mug of milk. As he waited for his drink to heat up in the microwave, he heard a curious whirring from the laundry room.  
Once the microwave beeped, Heavy grabbed his milk and made his way towards the noise. They weren't supposed to waste extra electricity (besides what was needed as an essential) after dark; energy was expensive and the respawn system was a big machine that needed a lot of power to run. He peered into the normally dark room and was astonished to see the claw machine looking as good as new; whirring and blinking and flashing. Engineer must have fixed the thing up earlier tonight, he assumed. Grumbling, the giant lumbered into the room and crouched down to unplug it. Heavy paused, hand drawing back from the wall outlet. There was no chord plugging the claw machine into the wall.  
Well, there was a chord, but it wasn't actually plugged in. It just lay there, limp, on the cold tile floor. How curious. Heavy sighed and stood up with a creak, snapping his back with a grunt. He'd have to tell Engineer to install an off switch or something to the machine; it was very distracting and bright and clearly a waste of energy.  
Just as he was about to leave the room and make his way back into the kitchen, Heavy stopped for a moment and considered the machine once again. It was a stupid, childish machine, of course. Only those less cognant- less able to recognize a scam when they saw it- played with claw machines. Money-drainers... gambling for the young... yes, that's all they were.  
And yet.  
And yet.  
The giant sidled up hesitantly to the machine and grabbed a quarter out of a jar of pocket change sitting behind the door frame. Hurriedly inserting it into the coin slot, Heavy leaned back and checked the hall to see if anyone was coming. Just one play wouldn't hurt... no one would have to know.  
Heavy grimaced as a light carnival tune filtered through the brightly-painted speakers of the claw machine. Thinking fast, he ripped the two little speakers out with his bare hands and sighed in relief as the song cut off with a screeching crackle. Heavy could probably explain why he damaged the game in the morning without making it seem like he was playing the game. All would be fine.  
He grabbed the tiny joystick with one giant paw and nudged it forward, watching the claw slide towards the back of the machine. Quickly deciding on a little stuffed turkey (it was cute, Heavy was hungry), Heavy slowly maneuvered the mechanism and dropped the claw. It dipped down deep into the pile of toys and grasped the turkey by the tip of it's talon; then, as it made its slow way up, let the bird slip back into the bowels of the machine. Frustrated, Heavy pounded a fist against the frame of the machine, causing it to rattle violently. The giant growled and shoved his hand back into the quarter jar with contempt, yanking out yet another quarter and forcing it into the machine.  
He hated claw machines. Stupid, stupid game. He would show it and get that damn turkey out if it took him all night.  
And so Heavy did just that. Failed try after failed try after failed try, he continued to feed more and more money into the machine, utterly unable to stop. His warm milk had long grown cool, and Heavy's eyes soon glazed over and his actions became mechanized. He lost himself in the claw machine, forgetting about his basic human needs in lieu of playing: as if in a trance. He couldn't think, couldn't even consider anything but claw, claw, claw. As midnight turned into one turned into three o'clock, still he swayed there, slipping by the turkey- just barely- every time.  
The sun began to peek up over the desert, bathing the RED base in a warm pink light. The stirrings of mercenaries began to echo through the ramshackle base: Soldier up with the sun per always; Spy echoing in the bathroom, preparing himself for the day before anyone else was even awake. Sunlight gradually filtered through the dusty window of the laundry room, highlighting the sand particles floating lazily through the air in gold. Slowly, the light crawled across the floor, up the mercenary’s body, and eventually reached its way up to his face. As soon as the gentle light hit Heavy's eyes. the spell was broken.  
He stepped back, horrified, from the machine. How long had he been playing?! It had felt like just a few minutes, yet the blinding sun told him otherwise. Cursing violently in Russian, the giant quickly made his way out of the laundry room and checked the time on an old wall clock. Sure enough, it was now 7 in the morning, and Heavy had to start getting ready for battle. He hadn't slept a wink.  
Groaning in dismay and rubbing his eyes, Heavy resigned himself to having to suck up his complaints and get on with the day and disappeared tiredly into his room.  
  
~  
"We are having Kalte Platte again this morning, so if you could help me pull things out, that would be much appreciated." Medic strode into the living room, idly drying his hair off with a towel. He threw it into the laundry room as he walked past, barely even paying the claw machine a glance, and weaved his way into the kitchen. Heavy sat hunched over the large, worn, kitchen table, facing away from the doctor. Medic paused, buttoning his top, and peered over at the giant upon hearing no response. Heavy was quiet, certainly, but he would not just ignore Medic. Scout, maybe. Medic? Never.  
"Heavy?" Medic inquired. Again, nothing.  
The doctor huffed and strode over to his friend, roughly shaking him. In response, Heavy snuffled and started, turning around to glare blearily at Medic. "What is wrong with you?" Medic inquired, peering concerned into Heavy's red, drooping eyes.  
"Hm?" Heavy replied, eyes unfocused, squinting at the other man.  
"Did you get any sleep at all last night?" Medic accused, walking away from the giant and beginning to pull out breakfast plates.  
"Yes... little." Heavy grunted, rubbing his eyes with one thick hand.  
"Mmm-hmm." Medic replied with a raised brow. Heavy occasionally was a bit of an insomniac, and he had his fair share of aches and pains, but he never simply did not sleep. It was a serious detriment on the field; Medic's life often relied on Heavy being well-rested and fit to fight.  
Heavy pushed himself up from the table and began sluggishly helping Medic while the other man peered at the giant out of the corner of his eye. He was slow- slower than usual. His hands seemed uncooperative: stiff, like lumps of unresponsive meat. His shoulders were hunched heavily, his slouch atrocious, and his eyes utterly and totally dead. He looked like hell warmed over. "What on Earth kept you up so late?" He demanded.  
"Was nothing." Heavy replied briskly.  
"Nothing, right." Medic sneered, drawing out his response. "Heavy, if there is something wrong, you need to tell me. You have put your entire team in danger, verstehst du? It's not just ‘poor little Heavy’ who's tired here, can’t deal with the world, don’t want to work or fight: you've put all of us on the line. How could you be so-" Medic spluttered, before he was cut off by Heavy.  
"I know. It's not good. I am sorry."  
"Hmmph. ‘Sorry’ isn't good enough, sometimes." Medic replied promptly, then whipped around with the plates and began to set the table without another word. Heavy watched the other man stomp around and sighed. He knew he had been stupid, so stupid. He didn't know what happened... but he truly did feel awful. He knew his team would pay for his mistakes wholeheartedly, and vowed to never, ever, touch the stupid claw machine again. He didn’t even want to look at it.  
Now all he had to do was somehow make it up to Medic, he thought, as the doctor shot him an ice-cold look out of the corner of his eye.  
~  
  
"Ugh." Scout whined, holding an ice pack to his swollen eye. "We got steamrolled..."  
Various mutters echoed in agreement across the sweltering medi-bay, where a rather bruised and bloody-looking Medic focused his healing ray on Demoman, sitting slumped over in a wheelchair with his tongue lolling out. The window was open, but the stifling heat did not let up, it seemed to much of the team that their wounds were festering in the dry heat as they waited to be treated. More than one of the mercenaries had sunburns, and many also were suffering from broken arms and legs, assorted bruises, and the odd missing tooth or two. While Medic’s gun could take care of most of the snapped bones; the lighter injuries- the cuts, the scrapes, the minor burns… those had to heal on their own. Morale was at an all-time low, and each merc was sick and tired of the other: everyone stewed in frustrated silence. Heavy, being lucky to have respawned soon before they lost devastatingly, watched guiltily from the doorway as Medic patched the team back together. He couldn’t even think of anything to say. Medic knew he was there but refused to look at him, a few of the others eyed him disdainfully every minute or so. When one man on the team wasn’t on their A game- especially one like Heavy- everyone knew. Everyone suffered.  
Hopefully he’d redeem himself tomorrow.  
But... for now?  
He didn’t dare show his face.  
Heavy slunk out of the room like a dog with his tail between his legs and disappeared into his bedroom, hoping to catch up on some sleep before they had to go back to work the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my sister who is (obsessively) encouraging me to complete this project.  
> I don't think I'm quite capturing the essence of R.L. Stine's books, unfortunately... but I hope that you all still enjoy this story nonetheless!  
> This is unbeta'd, so if there are any mistakes they are mine and mine alone.


End file.
